


Mistletoe

by dontcareajot



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, warnings for christmas cheer and snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Rhys, Jack's seasoned PA, invites his boss to a Christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

Rhys is supposed to be focused on his computer, focused on _problem solving_ , but his eyes keep wandering to the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows, the spectacular view outside- and Jack, seated in front of them, silhouetted against the night sky and the falling snow, the only visible part of him his mismatched eyes, illuminated by the laptop on the desk in front of him. He sits with his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched and every so often he'll yawn and rub at his eyes but most worrying of all is the fact that he's being _quiet_. Not a smart remark or a barked order or a loud complaint for the last couple of hours. Rhys knows, he's been keeping track.

“Jack,” Rhys ventures on the tail end of his own yawn, finally daring to breach the comfortable silence that's fallen over them as they work. His voice comes out a tad hoarse, a result of exhaustion. He and Jack have been pulling a ton of overtime in an attempt to smooth over this latest crisis. This makes their third night in a row to stay long after everyone else has left the building, long after the automatic timer has switched off the overhead lights and Lucy, Jack's secretary, has poked her head in to wish them a good night. Jack seems worse off than Rhys, if the sleep-deprived smudges under his eyes and the rapidly growing collection of empty coffee mugs on his desk are anything to go by. “Why don't we call it for the night, huh? I mean, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. It can wait until Monday, right?”

Jack sighs, as weary a sound as Rhys has ever heard him make. “Go home, kiddo,” he says, not even glancing away from his work.

Rhys stands, stretches until his back gives a satisfying pop. He's already gathering his things when he realizes Jack still isn't moving. He goes to stand in front of his desk, waits until Jack finally looks at him. “You're not coming?”

“Nah. I've got...” Jack shrugs, gestures vaguely at his computer. “Stuff.”

“Stuff,” Rhys repeats, frowning. “Stuff that can _wait_.”

Jack shrugs again.

Rhys' frown deepens. “C'mon, Jack. You need rest. And Angel's waiting on you. Go home.”

Jack tilts a brow at him. “You ordering me around? You know, I've fired people for talking to me like that.”

“You won't fire me, though,” Rhys says, just this side of smug. “You need me too much.” After nearly a year working as Jack's PA, Rhys has finally started to be able to tell when the man is kidding and when he's to be taken seriously. He's almost always kidding when he talks about firing Rhys. Mostly because Rhys has spent his time wisely, finding ways to make himself invaluable to Jack and the company. And he likes to think Jack's kind of fond of him in his own weird way, though it's sometimes hard to tell what with the constant ribbing and occasional death threats.

“Might,” Jack argues, but it's halfhearted at best. He leans back in his chair, scrubs a hand through his hair, looks Rhys up and down. There's a frown tugging at the corners of his lips when he says, somewhat hesitant, “Angel's not home, though. She's, uh- she's with her mom, this year. So no one's waiting on me.”

“Oh,” Rhys says and doesn't add _that's sad_. He hasn't got anyone waiting on him, either. Not really. Just Vaughn, and he's not so much waiting as he is sleeping, probably. “So... you're not doing anything for Christmas? No, um- no plans?”

“Nope.” Jack pops the 'p', leaves the word hanging awkwardly between them.

“Right, well.” Rhys palms the back of his neck, shifts on his feet. The thing is- the thing is that Jack is tired, obviously, and maybe lonely, and the idea of him spending Christmas Eve alone, tottering around his presumably massive house and probably either over-working or over-drinking is upsetting in a way Rhys can't quite put his finger on. And what about Christmas morning? Rhys is almost sure this will be Jack's first holiday alone since before his marriage, which ended rather disastrously two years ago. Jack is probably used to waking up early with Angel to open gifts, and Angel had confided in Rhys once that every Christmas Jack makes her chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and draws a smiley face on them in whipped cream, which is silly and endearing and absolutely not something Jack would want Rhys knowing.

Of course, Jack would probably _actually_ kill him if he thought even for a second that Rhys was doing anything close to pitying him. So Rhys avoids Jack's gaze as he says, carefully, going for off-handed and nonchalant and falling just short, “Well, me and some friends are having a- a thing at my place. Tomorrow night. A little get together. You could... come. If you want.”

Jack narrows his eyes.

Rhys rushes on. “You don't have to bring a gift or anything. Just, like. We all bring food and pig out and play games and drink and stuff. It's fun. Laid back. Chill. All that great stuff.” He has to actually force himself to stop talking or he knows Jack will just let him prattle on until he runs out of breath. Jack actually timed him once, to see how long he would ramble if left uninterrupted. He had a good laugh at the frankly embarrassing results.

He's not laughing now, though. He's just _looking_. At Rhys. There are Christmas songs playing softly on the radio in the corner which, until just now, Rhys had been tuning out. Jack isn't particularly festive but he does think better with some background noise so when Rhys had been scanning the stations earlier it had seemed appropriate to settle on something Christmasy.

Jack hums, cutting into the middle of an old timey rendition of White Christmas. “A party with you and your little dweeb friends? I dunno.”

“Come on,” Rhys wheedles. “You'll be the coolest person in the room. That's a selling point, right?”

Jack can't seem to help but mirror Rhys' half-smile even as his brow remains furrowed. “Yeah, that's not saying much when my only competition is you and your half-pint accountant friend.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “I have _other_ friends. Friends who will, in fact, be there tomorrow. Hell, you might even like some of them.”

“Doubtful.”

“Won't know unless you come,” Rhys points out.

Jack sighs again. “Alright, fine. Maybe. We'll see. Right _now_ I need to focus and you need to scram.” At Rhys' disapproving look he adds, “Don't start momming me, Rhysie. I don't need it. I'll go home when the job's done.”

Rhys picks up his bag, aware that he won't be winning this argument. When Jack decides to dig his heels in, there's no budging him. “Just- don't stay all night, okay? Please?”

The look that crosses Jack's face then is some combination of baffled and grudgingly endeared. “Yeah, kid,” he says softly. “Don't freeze to death out there. I ain't got time to find your replacement.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, already halfway out the door, steadfastly ignoring the budding warmth in his chest. As far as bosses go, Jack could be a lot worse.

-

Christmas Eve dawns gray and peaceful. It stopped snowing at some point during the night but it's left the city blanketed in white. Rhys drinks his morning coffee perched on his bedroom windowsill, blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders as he admires the view. The snow makes the city look almost _pure_. Fresh. It's nice.

He tells Vaughn as much when he comes knocking a few minutes later, then tells him, very quickly, about Jack. He waits until Vaughn is seated on the bed, socked feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

“You invited _him_?” he says. He sounds positively scandalized but Rhys finds it difficult to take him seriously what with the way he's still sleep-rumpled and dressed entirely in Christmas-themed pajamas. Right down to his socks, which are red and have Christmas trees printed on them. Actually, Rhys is pretty sure those were pilfered from his own sock drawer. Wouldn't be the first time his room mate had knicked a pair of his socks.

“Well, yeah,” Rhys sheepishly admits. “It was just sad, you know? To think about him spending Christmas alone. I figured, if I could help-”

“You ever think maybe there's a reason he doesn't have anyone to spend the holidays with?”

“Oh, stop,” Rhys scoffs. “Don't be like that. He's just- he's-”

“If you say _misunderstood_...”

“No. No, not that. He's just, you know, _Handsome Jack_.” Rhys provides an accompanying hand gesture. “He probably doesn't get invited to a lot of parties.”

Vaughn blinks. “Yeah, because he's crazy. And scary. He's crazy scary.”

“ _No_ , he's _eccentric_. And he's, like, the boss. So people are kind of scared of him. But he's really not that bad.” Rhys attempts to wave away Vaughn's judgey frown. “And I'm not even sure he'll really come!”

Vaughn sighs. He clutches his coffee mug closer to him, warming his hands around it. “Well, if he does, Janey will be thrilled.”

“What? Why?”

“She's been rooting for you two.”

“...Rooting for us?”

Vaughn shrugs, says matter-of-factly, “Yeah. You know, to get together. I think she and Athena have a bet going, actually. Not sure what the terms are but I might try to get in on it, now.”

Rhys tugs his blanket tighter around him, suddenly feeling chilly. He scoots incrementally away from the cold window pane. “She thinks... me and Jack...”

“Oh, come on, bro. Don't be stupid.” Because Rhys still looks hopelessly confused, he adds, “Look, since I've been there he's _never_ had a PA last this long. Not even close. And he's always doing nice shit for you. Like- didn't he get you flowers for your birthday? And take you out to lunch at that really fancy place?”

“Well, yeah,” Rhys flounders. “But- he did the same for Lucy. And they _definitely_ aren't fucking.”

“Hey, no one said anything about fucking. That was all you.”

Rhys can feel his cheeks going hot. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Finally, what comes out is, “He's my boss! And- the fact that he hasn't fired me doesn't mean he's got a _thing_ for me!”

“No? How about the fact that he let you meet Angel? Or how about all those times he called you hot? That time he said you should come over for dinner sometime? And he's really touchy feely with you, right? Always putting his hand on your arm, arm around you shoulders- Rhys, he smacked your ass the other day. Ringing any bells?”

“I- those were...” Rhys sets his mug down on his nightstand just so he can flail his hands around a bit to get his point across. Evidently he fails anyway because Vaughn still looks unconvinced.

“You think he'd agree to come to anyone else's Christmas party? That right there is proof enough, bro.”

Rhys screws up his face. “Technically,” he points out. “He didn't agree to come. He just said maybe.”

Vaughn raises both eyebrows, takes a pointed sip of his coffee.

“Alright. Well.” Rhys blows out a breath. His shoulders slump as he admits defeat. “Tonight's gonna be awkward.”

“Yep.” Vaughn pats him on the shoulder. “But it was always gonna be awkward. I mean, it's Handsome Jack.”

Rhys glares. “Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem. Now, get your skinny ass up and come help me decorate. We've got a party to host.”

-

Jack sweeps in once the party is already in full swing without knocking, and definitely without a heads up that he would be attending after all. He looks considerably more alert than Rhys had left him the day before. Instead of a greeting what Jack offers up is, “The party has arrived,” arms spread and a smirk on his face that spells trouble. Everyone goes sort of quiet but Rhys is able to swoop in before things get too awkward, acting on auto-pilot and doing his best to ignore the weird fluttery feeling in his stomach.

“Jack,” he says, gripping Jack's arm with one hand and gesturing at his gathered friends with the other. “This is everyone. Everyone, Jack.”

Jack looks much the same as he does at work everyday, right down to his (somehow still-pristine) sneakers, but seeing him against the backdrop of Rhys' apartment is... different. A little off-putting. Rhys has never been one for bowing and scraping (something he privately believes Jack likes about him) but having Jack here does put him a little on edge. Makes him stand a little straighter, mind the way he talks. And then there's the way his heart seems to be beating just a _little_ too fast, especially when Jack places his own hand atop Rhys' where it rests on his arm and nods at all his friends.

“I think I recognize pipsqueak over there,” he says, pointing at Vaughn. Vaughn jumps, looks worried for a half a second, but all Jack adds is, “Good to see you, buddy. Smells like Christmas threw up in here.”

“Um,” says Vaughn.

Rhys laughs, a kneejerk reaction to awkwardness. “I'll go- get you a drink,” he says quickly, detaching himself from Jack's side and pretending not to see the little eyebrow waggle Janey is trying to aim at him.

“So you're the infamous Jack,” he hears Sasha say as he makes a break for the kitchen. “We've heard a lot about you.”

Rhys sends up a silent prayer that no one says anything too embarrassing. Evidently the gods hear him because when he returns, drink in hand, Jack is regaling everyone with some tale or another. And, to Rhys' surprise, it looks like everyone is _enjoying_ themselves. Sasha actually laughs so hard she snorts and even Athena cracks a smile when Jack reaches the end of his story.

That damned _warmth_ rears its ugly head again as Rhys stands there watching Jack charm his friends. Rhys knows what it is but it's easier not to put a name to it. Instead, he abruptly decides that, weird as it is, he rather likes having Jack in his apartment. Having Jack around his friends. Having Jack around, period. It's nice. Something he could potentially get used to. Jack isn't all that different from the way he is at the office. It's just subtle, little things. An easing of tension, a dropped facade. Rhys is probably one of a very few people who would even notice.

Jack spots him watching and waves him over, beaming as he takes the proffered drink. “Thanks, pumpkin,” he says, nudging Rhys with his hip.

Things go smoothly after that. Jack keeps Rhys close and in typical Jack fashion he makes himself the center of attention for nearly the entire night. He goes from one person or group of people to the next, always directing Rhys to follow with light but insistent touches. He compliments Sasha's questionable cooking with what seems like genuine fervor, he cracks jokes until he has Fiona doubled over, he and August have a lengthy conversation about guns, and he even manages to half-seriously discuss Bunkers and Badasses with Vaughn. And evidently he's decided to be on his best behavior, because he does it all without managing to really piss off anyone even once. It's an admirable show of restraint, for Jack.

It's not until well into the evening that Rhys is able to pull him aside, toward an abandoned corner of the living room. Jack lets himself be led away from the others easily enough, eyebrow quirked as Rhys begins, “I, um. I have something for Angel.” He holds out the wrapped package for Jack to take. “It's a book,” he says, even though Jack probably could've guessed. “I wasn't sure if I should get her anything since, you know. But I saw this and I know she likes to read... It's one of my favorites, so I thought-”

Jack takes the present. It's poorly wrapped and bowless, a rushed job, and Rhys wants to take it back and do it over again but Jack doesn't seem to notice. He smiles, a lopsided and almost unsure thing. “Oh, Rhysie,” he says, voice gone low and soft. He slips the small hardcover into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. “You're gonna get me in trouble, you know that?”

Before Rhys can come up with a response that consists of more than blushing and nervous fidgeting, Janey interrupts.

“Oi, Rhys. Why don't you give your boss here the grand tour, eh?” she calls from over near the TV, a deceptively sweet grin on her face.

“The... tour...?”

“Yeah, show him round!”

Rhys blinks. “This apartment has like four rooms, Springs, I really doubt Jack wants to see-”

“There's the balcony,” says Sasha, leaning over the back of the couch. “The view is beautiful when it's snowing like this.”

Rhys _knows_ they're up to something. He doesn't get a chance to call them out on it, though. Jack taps him on the arm, almost absently, and nods toward the door. “I could use a breath of fresh air anyway. Whattya say, kitten?”

Jack gets what Jack wants. Rhys grabs his coat.

The balcony is just a little square of concrete, barely big enough for two people to stand. Undeserving of the title of balcony, really. But Rhys dutifully opens the door and leads Jack out. There's a nice view of the city, at least, just as Sasha had promised, all lit up and illuminating the snowfall, and Vaughn had the decency to hang a wreath and a string of lights around the door this year.

Rhys shivers as he steps out, stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets. “Beautiful,” he says, half to himself as he looks out over the city, but Jack hums his agreement from beside him as he leans his elbows on the railing.

“”s nice. You should see the view from my penthouse, though. Friggin' gorgeous. And that's a standing invitation, by the way.”

Rhys laughs, a nervous habit. Jack is always saying things like that. Rhys knows, however, that it's meaningless. No matter what Vaughn thinks. It's just Jack being Jack. He probably thinks it's funny.

Rhys ducks his chin. “I, um. I just wanted to say- thanks for coming tonight, Jack. I know it's probably weird for you. And definitely not as, you know, extravagant as you're used to.”

Jack straightens up. He's got that look he gets sometimes, soft and a little baffled. “Nah. This place could definitely use a hot tub or two. Maybe some surround sound, a little, you know, interior decorating. But it's... not bad. Very you. It's nice.”

Rhys shrugs off the compliment, if it could be called that. It's as close to a compliment as Jack usually gets, anyway. “And thanks for... Uh, I don't want to say _putting up with_ but-”

“Thanks for not terrorizing your pals?”

“Something like that. I know they can be pretty weird. Like, I dunno why they wanted me to show you the balcony so bad. I mean, there's nothing out here and I bet you've got, like, ten balconies at your place. Probably all with a better view than this.”

“Oh, I dunno, pumpkin,” Jack says. “I just wanted to get you alone. And I think your friends probably just wanted us to wind up under this mistletoe.”

Rhys freezes. “Mistletoe?”

Jack points. “That is mistletoe, isn't it?”

Rhys nods, staring at the offending plant, hung lopsided from the slight overhang of the roof. As if this night wasn't surreal enough already.

“Now, I'm not really up on my Christmas traditions and whatnot but I think that means we have to kiss, right?”

Rhys nods again, suddenly hyper aware of how close he and Jack are standing. Close enough that he can feel the heat coming off him. He swallows. “I, um. You don't have to,” he says, voice gone shaky, a fact which he hopes Jack will attribute to the cold. “If you don't want to.”

Jack tilts a brow at him. “Now that, kiddo, is entirely up to you.”

Rhys blinks, considers. Jack's expression is carefully blank. He isn't smiling but he doesn't look homicidal, either. The butterflies that Rhys has been trying so hard to ignore and contain for the better part of a year are back with a vengeance as he considers actually getting what he wants. And he _does_ want to kiss Jack. Has wanted to for years, even before he became Jack's PA. He can admit that much to himself. But Jack is his boss. There could be serious repercussions. And even ignoring that, there's a more immediate concern- what if Jack thinks he's a bad kisser?

Jack somehow gets closer still, chin tilted up like he's just daring Rhys to do it. “Well, are you gonna kiss me, princess, or are you gonna be a pussy about it-”

Rhys surges forward, presses their lips together before Jack can even finish his sentence and before he can over think things anymore. He keeps it light, chaste, only has enough time to notice how soft and warm Jack is and how he smells so _good_ , like expensive cologne and something else, something contrastingly sweet, before he pulls away, not willing to push. But Jack doesn't let him get very far. He chuckles- Rhys is so close he feels it more than hears it- and reels Rhys back in by his lapels. And Jack _does_ push. He deepens the kiss, nudges Rhys' mouth open, cards his fingers through Rhys' hair and silently demands that Rhys give as good as he gets.

It is simultaneously how Rhys always imagined it would be and yet so much better.

Rhys tries to keep up but by the time they finally separate he's out of breath and more than little dazed. Jack continues to keep him close. His hands have somehow found their way under Rhys' coat to press into the small of his back. Rhys realizes with a start that his own hands are gripping Jack's waist. The fact that he doesn't particularly care to remove them is another realization all on it's own.

When Rhys finally dares to look at his face, Jack, for his part, looks smug. And content. And... fond? Maybe? It's a new look for him. One that has Rhys' cheeks going pink.

“Um,” Rhys says, ever eloquent.

“Yeah,” Jack quietly agrees. “Pretty sweet, right?” There are snowflakes drifting into his hair and he's flushed, probably from the cold, but if he notices then he clearly doesn't care.

Rhys smiles. “Yeah. Pretty sweet.”

Jack leans forward, plants a kiss along Rhys' jaw, then his neck, then another a little further down, leaving a trail of warmth. “Wanna go again?” he asks, tone light and teasing, but the fact that he's even asking probably says a lot. Rhys knows better than most people that Jack usually just takes what he wants.

“Yes,” Rhys says, a little too quickly. “I mean. Definitely. But I am kind of hosting a party right now.”

Jack makes an unhappy little sound, muffled into the junction of Rhys' neck and shoulder. “Don't guess I could convince you to just leave with me, eh, kitten?”

“Well, this is my apartment, so...”

Jack straightens up. His hands run almost absently up and down Rhys' spine. “But after?” he asks, scrutinizing Rhys' face.

“After,” Rhys promises, and to show that he means it he graces Jack with one more kiss, hands cupping his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a [tumblr](http://dontcareajot.tumblr.com) <3


End file.
